White Rose
by phantur
Summary: I started this story on Basilmarket about a year back and am starting to update now that school's out. Enjoy!
1. Prologue

**_~ White Rose ~_**

_**By: Phantur of FanFic (aka infferrno of Basilmarket and LordPhantur of Bera)**_

_Come my children, gather 'round_

_Sit and make not a sound._

_Say not a word lest my voice should fail_

_Now hear my voice and hear my tale_

_A tale that started on nights like these_

_With nothing more than the day-end breeze._

_Now listen to me and listen well_

_For I, the Weaver, have a tale to tell._


	2. Seeds of Insanity

[A/N: Please post your Reviews, nothing makes an author work harder than to know that his work is being appreciated.]

**Chapter 2: Seeds of Insanity**

_Run, run from the demon's wrath_

_Run, run from one with heart torn_

_Lest you wish to walk death's path._

_One choice, one path, light he shall scorn._

_Blood will rain and war shall stand_

_All shall fall to a mortal's hand._

_The world, an end shall see _

_And a kingdom undone_

_A dark age there shall be_

_When all bow to one._

_Child of Fire, Ice, and Thunder_

_Shall cause the earth to sunder._

_For by Bera the child shall be evoked_

_He, a passion of vengeance shall be cloaked_

_For blood shall be spilt for blood's death_

_And all shall fall to the Reaper's depth._

A low guttural roar swept across the rugged plains of Perion, echoing in the distant mountains, the humid air adding tension to the peaceful grounds, as if the very land was holding its breath; waiting for the inevitable. Amidst the rugged terrain, a village lay nestled in an indentation in the earth. As the night dragged on, the winds dampened and a deep sigh seemed to rise from the ground as the land let up its pent up breath, sweeping across the withered and charred ground. The browned stalks of grass rose in the tender breeze, dancing along with the gentle rays of the moon. A murmur ran through the plains as the gentle wind wafted through the darkened grass. A blanket of silence and darkness lay over the lands as Night herself held the earth in her calming arms.

--

Somewhere in the distance, amongst the sparse vegetation and jagged rocks, a shadow stirred. In the dark of a willowy tree, a tall figure rose to full height and stepped from the shadows. The darkness seemed to melt off his form, crawling off him as if in fear, back into the night. As the darkness subsided, the features of a muscular man became prominent. The man stood at over six feet tall, thick, dark, coarse hair cascaded from his cranium, held together with a loose headband. A thick ropy scar ran from his bony cheek down into the depths of the bandana covering the bottom half of his face. His skin looked withered and dry; an unhealthy brown hue lay on his hide. Light leather armor adorned his figure, cracked and covered in dirt from travel. Mail backed gloves were set on his coarse hands and steel plated boots fastened to his feet. The dark clothing blended the man into the darkness, making him one with the night. From the folds of his leather garment, the man pulled out a blood-red dagger, its edges reflected the glow of the moon as it slid from its sheath. The Chief Bandit twirled his weapon experimentally in his right hand. A light whistle split the otherwise silent grounds as the iridescent blade danced in the man's palm. Once the final tendrils melted off his body, the man surveyed the grounds. Seeing no movement, the figure raised an armored fist into the air, the rings of steel cut lightly into his skin, causing a slight burning sensation even as the wafting current cooled the metal.

On cue, shadows emerged from the lingering shadows. They seemed to melt straight out of the ground, trees, rocks, and weeds. The dark shapes slowly solidified into human figures. As one, their cloaks of darkness flowed off them, settling back into the crevices of the earth. The man looked behind him as the last stream melted off the assembled humans. A score and a half of men and women stood at attention, their knives and daggers unsheathed, as the man's gaze swept over them.

Satisfied, the man looked into the distance, inspecting the opposite side of the valley. Before long, his dark gaze caught a tiny glint peering from the long stalks of grass. The man narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized the grass. He opened his eyes fully as he found what he sought. Waves upon waves of men appeared; marching out of the vegetation. In swarms they appeared, one group after another, like waves crashing onto the sandy shores of a beach. Hundreds of bows, spears and unsheathed blades glinted in the dim lighting; the metallic luster from the weapons glittered in the night sky. The crashing of shields and boots rang out, slashing through the dense fog of silence. With a wordless command, the entire troop assembled into separate garrisons.

The Chief Bandit smiled. His lips extended into razor sharp lines below his covering. The Warriors and the Archers had arrived. It was time them to get their payback.

--

Footsteps pounded on the dry cracked ground, throwing up stifling clouds of dust and dirt. The air ran thick with parched earth, thickening the air, blocking out the silvery glean of the moon.

_Only a little further…_

The dry dusty landscape gave way to a leafy expanse. Tall, blossoming trees raced past on both sides., their darkened branches waving at the sky, clutching at the winking stars. Their trunks widening and their canopy thickening as time passed.

_So close…_

Muddy roots surfaced from the ancients of the forest, mossy rocks protruding like sores from the musty earth.

_Ellina…_

--

His heart pounded against his chest, like a hammer against an anvil. His feet felt leaden, his bulky armor weighing him down. His breath came in ragged gasps, in sync with the gasps coming from the three others behind him.

"Zeryoz… we can't go on any longer… we need to stop!..."

Zeryoz stopped and turned towards the speaker; a young man with a long mane of dusty blonde hair. The speaker unbelted his sword and sat down against a sandy root. He peeled off his plated gloves and wiped the sweat from his face before continuing.

"… We can't go on like this… we've been going for hours…"

"I agree with… John…" A second voice wheezed, his axe hanging limply on his back. The speaker removed his helmet, letting his hair fall free.

"John, Zach… we can't stop yet! We are still too close…"

_Too close…_

He looked behind him, past his three companions at the rings of smoke rising into the sky, obscuring the shimmering moon. He looked on as flames licked at the wood and stone that was his town. Tears shimmered in his eyes, before disappearing behind closed lids.

"I think they're right Zeryoz. We're all too tired to continue..."

Zeryoz turned around to look in the face of the third speaker.

"We really should rest… it won't do any good if we fall asleep on our feet."

"Stephanie, it won't do any good if catch us snoozing!"

"My dear brother… we need rest… all of us are exhausted… you're practically sleeping on your feet!"

Zeryoz looked into his sister's eyes. Seeing the same sorrow reflected in her eyes that mirrored of his feelings he gave in.

"Okay, we'll rest here, I'll take first watch." Zeryoz spoke as he unbelted his sword.

"Inferno!"

A swath of flames cut through the dense vegetation. Zeryoz could only stare wide-eyed as the dark flames smashed into Zach's back. Zach gave a cry of pain as the fire exploded, ripping him apart. The resulting shockwave sent the rest of them soaring through the air.

Zeryoz felt something smash into his mid-section, tearing through his plated armor.

He had only one thought before a red haze fell over his eyes.

_Stephanie…_

--

The Chief Bandit smiled inwardly as he watched the smoke rising in the air. The dark wisps crawled through the night sky, spinning a story of pain and misery.

The smell of decay and death fueled him; the screams of tortured individuals still rang clearly in his mind, a symphony of the damned. They fueled him, sating his hunger for blood and revenge… for the time being.

He looked up into the sky, his bloodshot eyes watching as the columns of tragedy and death obscured the moon, the only witness of this tragic deed.

They got their payment and he got his.

--

A fiery tingling crawled up his spine, sending waves of hurt through his flesh. Searing pain burned through his fragile body as if molten lead had seeped into his veins. His heart beat an unsteady staccato rhythm, doing its part in emptying his veins from the grievous wound in his stomach. The fierce spasms of pain slowly melted away into dull throbs as a veil of darkness clouded his vision, pulling him into its depths. He longed to let go, to become one with the void, to forget this agony; a physical and mental torture.

Two paths… one tainted in red and drowned in agony, the other a soft covering of peace and tranquility.

_Mama, why do you grow all these flowers?_

_Son, I grow because I care for life for that is the way of the Paladin._

_I know that… but why roses?_

_The rose is a symbol of love and virtue. A rose of pure white is one of pure love for your family or lover, untainted by the other colors of our world. A rose of shrouded red symbolizes passion and lust, determination and vengeance, a fire that can get you through the hardest winters. A yellow one symbolizes friendship, and like the sun, it will never fade; even in the darkest times, you know that they will be there in the morn. Lastly a black rose. Black does not symbolize evil, for we wear black to funerals not to show the evil ways of deceased, but for sadness and for remembrance of the past._

_I understand mama._

His eyelids cracked open, tiny slits open to the elements, away from the haven of his mind. A shudder ran along his spine as agony ripped through his abdomen. Dark drops fell from his charred lips as his body was racked by a violent set of coughs.

A voice shattered the silence, "We got a live one! This one's still alive!"

His eyes snapped open.

_What happened? Wait… did he say ONE's still alive?_

Zeryoz slowly looked downwards and saw a chunk of metal sticking from his mid-section. It took him a minute to see that it was whatever was left of Zach's blade.

_Zach!_

He swiveled his head from side to side until it finally settled on two bodies. The unmoving mounds of flesh were charred almost beyond recognition, a horrible rank smell wafted from them. Both lay in grotesque positions, one was missing an arm, the other the entire lower half of its body. As he looked on, chunks of burnt flesh fell from the blackened bones; blood still flowing from the less damaged wounds. The rivers of dark liquid pooled underneath the carcasses, painting the ground an eerie red.

His eyes widened as his stomach churned at the sight and smell. He bent over and retched into the grass. He looked back up at the remains of his comrades, a strangled cry ripped from his lips.

_No…_

His heart felt cold, freezing over the burning sensation in his gut. Cold sweat glistened on his temples as warm tears leaked from his eyes; his clammy hands pawed at the ground as he crawled towards his dead companions.

He gripped the forearm of one of the bodies, his hands shook with grief.

As he made his way over to the bodies, a hand gripped his arm firmly and pulled him back. His head spun around to look in the face of his sister.

"Get up! Hurry, we have to get out of here!"

"Ste…steph…"

"Yes now come on!" fear tinged his older sibling's normally calm voice.

She yanked on his arm, pulling him up.

Before either could take a step, a rustling behind them brought their attention to another presence.

"Don't move scum!"

An archer marched out from behind the trees, bow raised.

A snarl was set on his face as he leveled his weapon at them.

Before they could react, a group of warriors burst through the undergrowth. They pointed their weapons at Zeryoz and Stephanie.

"What have we got here?"

Stephanie opened her mouth to speak but Zeryoz's hand shot out to stop her.

"Why should we answer you?"

"If you don't, you both die."

Zeryoz ground his teeth in frustration before answering.

"I am Zeryoz… son of Phyroz. I am Heir to the throne of Palaedine, House of the Holy Knights."

The archer looked surprised and pleased, the look on his face unsettled Zeryoz.

"Well it seems as if we caught ourselves some escapees." The rest of the band wore smirks on their faces as they realized what they had bagged.

"And what of the wench?" The archer growled, tipping his head towards Stephanie.

"She is my sister, a Spearwoman in training."

"Spearwoman? I thought she was your sister."

"She chose a different path."

The ranger nodded. "Eterminate them."

"You promised to set us free!"

"No I just said I would kill you if you didn't speak up, I never said I wouldn't." The Ranger said snidely as he released his bow string.

Zeryoz watched in horror as the shaft struck his beloved sibling in the chest, rupturing her heart, the iron head of the shaft burst from her back. Her eyes glistened over, still wide with shock and pain, a foggy film covering her eyes, forever locking them in a look of horror and surprise.

Zeryoz's mind went numb; his heart and mind shattered as he saw his sister crash onto the ground.

Zeryoz knelt down next to the corpse of his sister, his blood, his flesh. He grasped her hands, tears of pain and rage pouring from beneath his lids as he felt the warmth receding from her hands.

--

The archer looked at the trembling body of the Page. "Kill him." He said, jerking his head at a warrior standing close to Zeryoz.

The warrior strolled to a stop in front of Zeryoz as the young Page continued to mourn over the body of his sibling.

The man grinned and closed his eyes as if savoring the kill to come. Without another thought, he thrust his blade forward.

His eyes snapped open, the blissful look on his face replaced with confusion as he felt resistance coming from his sword. He looked down to see the young man clutching at his sword barehanded, blood streaking down his arm, pooling onto the bare earth next to his sister's arm.

The man pulled at his sword, attempting to dislodge his sword from the firm grasp. The figure below him just held on harder. Before he could move again, jolts of electricity ran up the blade into him. He felt a pleasant tingling course through his veins, only to be replaced with a burning pain.

The archer and the other troops looked on in shock as the soldier was electrocuted before their eyes, Screams of pain were muted as the man's vocal cords seared shut, his flesh burning and melting together, into a hideous form. The current came to an abrupt stop as the lifeless husk of the warrior fell to the ground; the flesh was seared from the man's face, leaving a grim smile forever fixed on his face.

He quickly looked back at the Page. A tremor seemed to run through the young man's body, his entire frame shaking as if an earthquake were running through him. At first he thought that the boy was crying until he heard the first peals of laughter.

The young man slowly raised his head, his dark tresses falling over to cover his face. A terrible noise of madness and despair ripped came from deep within. It came at a low, husky chuckle only to elevate into a high peal of insanity. The boy lifted his head to the sky and continued his song of madness. His eyes were wide open and wild; the previously soft brown irises seemed to have faded, leaving an opaque film over his eyes. His mouth was wide open, his smile stretching from ear to ear, that terrible noise playing forth from between his lips. His entire body shook with mirth, his insanity brought forth from witnessing the destruction and murders of his village, his friends, his sister.

The Ranger shook with fear as he looked at the crazed being in front of him. He tried to turn his gaze but found the harsh tones captivating. Fear rooted him to the spot; he felt nothing but the harmony of pain, the melody of despair. It mesmerized him like the songs of the sirens in stories of eld. Finally the archer broke free from the spell. He looked around wildly until he caught sight of another warrior.

"Kill him you fool!"

Before the warrior could even raise his axe, a flash of light lit up the forest. The archer raised his hands to his face as he felt an intense heat searing his skin. He lowered his arms as the brightness abated; only to see a pile of ashes were the warrior previously stood. The archer looked at the Page whose arm was outstretched and aimed towards the spot the warrior previously occupied.

As the archer opened his mouth to issue another command, giant pikes of ice split through the earth, piercing through his men.

The Page slowly got up to his feet, his arms hanging limply at his side, his head bent as he ambled towards his sister's murderer. Spears of ice continued to run through the other warriors, rending them into nothing but chunks of metal and meat.

The archer looked around; his arms trembled in fear as he saw the grotesque sight. Bodies lay everywhere, innards splattered the clearing, limbs decorated the ground. A Spearman that had stood next to him seconds before had a spear of ice pushed through his chest, the residue of his heart and lungs decorated the point that burst through his back. As he looked on, another jagged piece of ice erupted to smash into the side of the corpse, severing an arm and smashing open the cadaver's side. The organs slowly slipped from the open cavity, falling on the foot of the Ranger.

The man gave a shrill cry; his voice wavering from the horrors he was witnessing. He dropped his bow and ran for his life. As he was about to take another step the young man seemed to materialize in front of him.

"Going so soon?"

Above the leafy canopy of the forest, a piercing, blood-curling shriek rang through the heavens, joined by the echoes of countless others as they joined their ashes in the skies above just as the rays of dawn broke free of night's embrace.

--

Lord Henesys of the Plains of Southern Bera looked up from his studies as a light tapping was heard. He swiveled around and called for the visitor to enter.

When no one answered, he gave a quiet curse and stood to open the door. Confusion split his tanned face when no one was there to greet him. Cursing lightly under his breath, he judged the calling as another prank by the local younglings. As he turned he saw something shining on his door step.

_What's this?_

What he saw made his heart freeze in fear, his handsome face replaced with a look of pure horror, the skin around his eyes pale and drawn.

On his front porch was a wilted white rose, pale as the first snow of winter; intersecting perpendicularly was a blooming rose as black as the message it bordered:

_The seeds of insanity have been sown._


	3. Time of Darkness

[A/N: Please post your Reviews, nothing makes an author work harder than to know that his work is being appreciated.]

**Chapter Two: Time of Darkness**

_White represents the color of the Paladin, true of heart and pure of soul._

_Red represents the Hero, courageous and a spirit as hot and bright as the sun._

_Black represents the color of the Dragon Knight, secluded and fierce._

_One's path is never set. One may be born a Paladin and be pure and holy having never seen or suffered the horrors of the world. But as the weight of the world settle, the heart and mind of the Warrior may shift. Great anger and passionate rage have lead many a great White Knight down the path of the Hero. Hate and despair have equally led many down the path of the Dragon Knight._

_Why do Crusaders and White Knights have a divine form? That of the Hero and Paladin and yet Dragon Knights do not._

_That is a mystery we have never solved. Legend has it that the Dragon Knights of eld where the most powerful forms to live on Bera. They dominated with their power and strength. They could crush mountains with one thrust, obliterate armies and city walls with a single swipe. Yet, they never reached the fourth level of enlightenment, their divine selves._

_So… There is no fourth level to the Dragon Knight?_

_That is believed, or that none has reached the sacred throne of the Dark Knight._

_Dark Knight? That is their name?_

_It is what scholars call the fabled divine form of the Dragon Knights as they are shrouded in darkness and mystery._

_But… what's the 'fable'? What can they do?_

_According to legend, a Dark Knight is unstoppable. These black warriors can heal themselves, knit their flesh, replenish their blood, reset bone, and many other ailments. But their strongest component, what makes them glorious in battle, is there battle rage. They can go berserk, insane with power and blood-lust. As powerful and dangerous as they are, a Dark Knight must be wary. Losing control also means opening up your defenses_

_Now go and play with your sister and friends. But be sure to be back before nightfall._

_Yes father._

Zeryoz kneeled beside the graves of his two comrades and between them, the final resting spot of his last link to this world.

It had worn him emotionally and physically when he was forced to dig the three graves. The last vestiges of his comrades were now returned to the earth.

Tears burned his eyes, his midnight tresses obscuring his sorrow. Pain and misery racked his frame as he remembered his life just a few hours prior to the massacre. He remembered his family, his friends, his village. He remembered.

Zeryoz placed a browning leaf, still yellow as it desperately clung to life, on each both Zach and John's graves.

_Yellow for friendship…_

As the velvet leaves touched the soft earth, a single tear slipped from his dark lashes. Reminiscence of the time he had spent with his two best friends lay fresh in his mind.

He then laid down a single flower, white as snow, on his sister's grave.

_White for love and family…_

His fingers shook as he gently eased his callused fingers from the brittle stem. Tears were rushing freely from his soft brown lenses. He lifted a shaking arm and wiped the moisture from his face. Zeryoz reached into his cape and withdrew a single black rock, the surface smooth and clear as his future had once been, and laid it on Stephanie's grave next to the white blossom; the contrast was stark against the deep brown backdrop.

_Black for remembrance…_

Zeryoz looked at the four objects lying on the three graves and his face twisted into a mask of pain. His eyes shut tight as tears threatened to spout forth. He choked back a sob, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he clenched his knees. Grief washed over him as he remembered the words he was taught many years ago.

_The point of the strong is to protect the weak. We are Paladins and we are strong. A Warrior's strength comes from his strength and determination, the strength to overcome and the determination to see it done._

_Family and friends come first. Family is all you have and you must protect them to your death. Friends would not be friends if you did not put yourself in harm's way for them._

Guilt washed over him as he thought of his failure to protect his people. He felt the cold grip of remorse, as cold as the hands of the villagers, obscure his chest. The shadows of the fallen, their words of pain and anger etched into his soul.

_Protect? The weak DESTROYED us!_

Zeryoz thought of the horrible night, the night of carnage. Out of nowhere, Thieves, Warriors and Archers had streamed from over the hills, scores of gleaming blades flashed that night, only to be deadened by dark plasters of blood.

Hundreds of arrows fell; they came like rain, covering the ground with a blanket of black snow. Fire and ice rained on their homes, crushing and burning homes that the Paladins and White Knights had inhabited for centuries.

"Have we not served you well Goddess?" Zeryoz screamed into the night sky. "We paid for our servitude with what? Our blood, flesh, our very lives!"

He kneeled there, next to the fresh graves, looking up at the midnight blue sky, his arms outstretched as if readying for an embrace.

When no answer came forth, doubt seeped into the young man's heart. His face betrayed his confusion and thought of betrayal.

_Is Minerva so displeased with us as to forsake her own children? She would forsake those that follow her closer than the Priests and Bishops of her own church?_

A drastic change seemed to overcome the young Warrior. A steely determination replaced the look of pain; a deep-rooted vengeance overtook his grief. His calm, brown irises were darkened to the point of almost being completely black. Zeryoz unstrapped his sword. He unsheathed his sword and looked at the flat blade. His knuckles gleamed white, his grip trembled with and uncontrollable and undefined emotion.

The young warrior swore and threw his blade; the sharp tip caught the trunk of a tree, quivering as it stuck to the hard wood.

Zeryoz gripped the wooden sheath in two hands and, with a desperate snarl, snapped the polished wood as if they were matchwood.

_The age of the Paladins have ended…_

He reached over and picked up Stephanie's spear. A touch of sorrow split his stern features for a second as he remembered her birthday, the day he had spent his life's savings to purchase it for her. He thought it ironic that the weapon, once again, belonged to him.

A blue gleam rose from his palm to encircle the spear. Zeryoz closed his eyes, his look of pain slowly changed to a untamed snarl of fury. Slowly, the spear began to change as shards of ice seemed to materialize and take over the oaken handle. The cast iron spear head shimmered and transformed into a razor sharp chunk of crystal.

A moment later, Zeryoz looked down at what he clutched in his callused palms. A pike of pure ice, as cold as the rocky mountains of El Nath, lay where his sister's spear was moments ago.

…_the time of the Dragon Knights have come._

Zeryoz felt a burning sensation running up and down his spine, spreading forth in webs from his veins. The heat pooled through his blood and seared through his nerves. All he could feel was hate. Hate for what he had to endure, hate for the morel-less ways of the soldiers. And yet, as the heat washed over him, a chilling sensation crept up his back, suffocating him. He felt despair… What had Bera lost? All at the hands of Bera herself! The keepers of the elements were gone, with them, the light. Losing a branch of the fragile system of castes was like losing an arm for the world.

_Hate and despair have equally led many down the path of the Dragon Knight._

Zeryoz looked at the golden inscription on his cloak… Zeryoz… a stitching his sister had spent hours working on. He reached up and ripped off a chunk of his garment, taking the caption with it. He laid it with the other items on his sister's grave.

_This life is dead…_

He slowly set the spear back into his sister's spear sheath and strapped it to his back.

_I am the shadow that will descend on this world._

At these words, he reached into his cape and withdrew a single rose; a rose that was as red as the blood that this fateful night, as red as the liquid seeping into the hungry dirt at his knees. The young man stood and walked away, turning his back on his past. He brought the rose to his nose and breathed in its sickly sweet scent.

_Red for vengeance…_

_--_

Henesys trudged through the sweltering forest, navigating his way through the dense foliage. Henesys breathed a sigh of relief as he entered into a small clearing. In the middle sat a single old man, floating an inch above the ground. His skin was browned and wrinkled with age. His robe was a plain brown terrycloth reflected his age with the crinkles and dirt lying on the garment.

The Bowmaster stood at the edge of the clearing, unsure of what to do. A long while passed before he mustered the courage to speak. As his mouth opened, a voice rang in his head.

_I know what you seek Archer._

Henesys shuddered at the alien voice.

_He is coming…_

"Who is?"

_The one who faced destruction at the hands of Bera._

Henesys' face turned chalk white. "How does one come when destroyed?"

_When the life as you know it comes to an end, so do you. A new self may emerge, but it will not be who you once were._

"Impossible! We took every precaution! There should be no survivors!"

_When you attempted to escape fate, fate has a way of finding you. The time of Bera has come to pass along with the Paladin. The time of the darkness and death has come. The phantom of the North will come. He will cover the world in a shroud of death. His army will reach the ends of the world, his men as many as the flakes in a winter storm. He will descend upon this world like crows on carrion._

As these words entered his mind, Henesys seemed to enter into another realm. Images flashed before his eyes of the destruction that was foretold. The woods of Ellina's realm burned in the east as the mountains of the North were reduced to rubble. The next image was that of Kerning's western plains as they smoldered. True horror set in with the sights of the burning fields of Henesys' own beloved town.

Henesys felt bile rise in his throat as he saw the image of his village wiped off the face of Bera.

_What have you done Kerning? What have WE done? _Kerning thought in despair

_Your choices, your mistakes, will forever change the course of this world. Such is your choice, the land itself will break._

_Minerva help us!_

_The Goddess herself can do nothing._

The last image finally faded away and Henesys fell to the ground gagging. Before he could recover, a new set of images invaded his mind. He flinched as new images flew through his head.

He started in surprise.

_As of now, there are two futures for Bera._

The images showed the green valleys of his territory, the tranquil mountains of the north and the expanse of foliage to the east. The world looked… peaceful.

_There will be a fork in the road, one will lead to tranquility and will bring peace for thousands of years. The memory of the Midnight Massacre will all be but a memory. The other road will lead to the end of Bera. The world will shake with war and drown in blood. The violence will be so powerful; Minerva herself will fall from her throne. Regardless, the sun has set for this world…_

"When will they come?"

_HE will come in half a score, on the very day he was destroyed._

When he finally recovered and composed himself, Henesys asked the question he feared the most.

"What should we do?"

At these words, the Rememberer opened his eyes, "Nothing."

His voice was smooth and clear, the echoes of his voice faded away as a gentle breeze started, carrying with it a semi-sweet scent of rose petals. The aged figure of the Rememberer slowly faded away from the clearing along with the dying wind, leaving behind a single object.

Henesys staggered over to where the old man was meditating and picked up the object.

In his hands lay a single red rose.


	4. Death's Eyes

[A/N: If you enjoyed this story thus far, please leave a Review. See something you hate or could be improved? Leave a note!]

**Chapter Three: Death's Eyes**

--

_Five years later…_

--

A lone figure made its way through the raging storm. His cloak billowed behind him, the snow and wind of El Nath catching the thick fabric, threatening to tear it from the man's neck. He walked on diligently against a giant wall of ice and snow. The trees on either side lacked the leaves or fruits of spring, instead, leaving behind the bones of winter.

His clothes clung to him, slick with snow and sleet. The iron plate that rested on his chest was darkened with rust and age, his clothes lay in tatters. Despite his predicament, his frame pulsated with power, showing years of combat and strain.

A sudden gust lifted his hood up, almost over his head, before a hand shot out to snag it back in place. The same wind carried with it the frozen sands of winter, swirling and dancing in a mad waltz.

--

Three pairs of eyes looked down at the ragged figure.

The owner of the first set of eyes crawled back behind the tree he was hiding behind and motioned for his companions.

"He don't look rich 'nuff Ken." One of his companions stated.

"Gary you a doof. Lookit his back! 'Dat der stick looks mighty fine." His co-worker snapped, licking his dagger with delight.

"Shut up the lot of yeh. I agrees wid Kevin here. We gonna be smart like and nip us sometin' we can sell. Been weeks since I got sometin' hot in me." The first man stated, unsheathing his dagger as well.

"So…"

"Usually drill. I holds them down in front and you do it quick like from dem backs."

At these words, the three Thieves melted into the shadows and crept silently down towards the lone man.

--

"Stand and deliver!"

The man didn't even bother looking up as a Thief materialized in front of him.

"Give me all your mesos and dat der stick you gots."

He didn't receive an answer.

Ken became infuriated with the man's rudeness.

"Hey you der… numbskulls! I'm talkin' to yeh!"

The man remained silent.

A vein throbbed in Ken's forehead, his frustration coming forth. He removed his eyes from his prey for a second and looked behind him.

Behind the loner, two others materialized. They quickly got into place, Gary readying his dagger to thrust into the man's neck.

"I wus gonna let ju live but…" Ken nodded once.

Gary leapt forward, his knife descending in a viscous arc.

As his arm sliced downwards, an arm shot out from the cloaked figure. He gripped the would-be-assassin's arm and, pushing upwards, snapped the elbow. The crack vibrated around the windy valley, carried by the howling winds. The man spun around and with his other hand, crushed the Thief's windpipe.

Gary toppled backwards, his eyes still hard with the anticipation of the kill, blood trickling from between his clenched teeth. He hit the ground before his brain even registered his broken arm.

"Holy mother of Balrog! He killed 'im!" Kevin wailed.

The hooded man reached behind him and pulled out his spear.

Ken looked on, the skin around his eyes whitened in fear as he saw the massive pike of ice. He licked his, suddenly dry, lips nervously, looking on as his companion whipped around, heading for the safety of the trees.

He never made it past his first step.

The man moved with inhuman speed, closing the gap between the two of them. He thrust with his giant spear, severing Kevin's lower leg from the rest of his body. The Spearman moved to stand in front of the screaming Thief. He raised a booted foot and dropped it with blinding speed. A horrible splintering noise reached Ken's ears as his, now dead, companion's brains splattered the virgin snow, turning them a ghastly hue of pink and red.

Ken slowly backed up as the man turned to look at him. For the first time, Ken saw his face. He would have seemed calm, bored even, if not for the intense blaze behind his lenses. The face was near emotionless, black hair was plastered to his face from the wind; his brown eyes stared back without blinking.

Ken blinked once and gave a startled cry as the man seemed to appear right in front of him. A hand reached out almost lovingly to grip loosely around Ken's throat, lifting him into the air. Ken looked at the man's other hand, seeing the crystal spear stained black with blood.

"Puh… puh… please let me go sire!" Ken whimpered, a stain slowly forming on the front of his pants as his bladder relieved itself.

Ken's fear rose exponentially as he saw the arm clutching the giant icicle rise. In desperation, he rammed his dagger at the man's exposed neck. The dagger hit what felt like a steel plate and snapped his weapon at the hilt.

The man's grip hardened instantly as he saw the weapon in the Thief's slack grip.

"Thief…"

Ken gasped at the sudden tightness around his throat; drool trickled from his open mouth as the other end was blocked. He felt something crawling up his spine, something colder than the blistering snow around them.

He slowly raised his eyes from the man's neck to his eyes. His eyes, a deep brown a minute before, were now as black as hell's gates.

"Who the hell are you?!"

The man seemed to falter for a second, as if contemplating the simple question.

"I am the shadow of this world… I am a ghost of my past… I am your demon…" A sick smile touched his lips as he continued. "I am a phantom of Bera… Yes… a phantom…" He looked at the hapless man in his grip, his dark eyes locking onto Ken's. "I am… Phantur…"

Ken shivered before pleading to the man.

"Muh…Mercy!" The sound came out as a squeak.

"Those who ask for mercy don't deserve it."

At those words, Ken struggled anew, shaking and kicking at the figure. The man was unfazed and remained as immobile as a stone wall.

"Send my regards to my family."

That was the last thing Ken heard before the man flicked his wrist, tearing out Ken's throat.

--

_The spear and the poleax… weapons of the Dragon Knights. Unlike the sword, axe, or mace, these elongated weapons are unwieldy and lack the simplicity and range of motion a blade can bring. Despite this, the range and power are what can make up for it. A true Spearman knows how to keep an enemy at bay. _

_The path to greatness is long for the true strength of the Knights is not given lightly. Only to those that desperately seek and have the diligence can even hope to reach the sacred alter. But, when reached, the alter is great indeed._

_The blood of dragons runs through the veins of every Dark Knight. The lust of greatness and power flows through your body and power radiates from your every pore. That is what a member of the Order of the Dragons is, it is their very definition: power… Power is their greatest strength and yet their greatest flaw. Uncontrollable and unstoppable, the raw energy drives every Knight to the point of madness, insanity. No wound will falter them and nothing will shake their stance, they care not for themselves, only to show their enemies to fear their names. They go berserk. _

_Alas, this madness, this raw strength, led to a great revolution. The great armies of the Dragons marched against their brothers, the Light and the Tiger who wished that the Darkness could be abated. The Dark Knights drove the Paladins and Heroes to the coast in the east, nearly decimating all of them. The death toll of this war was tremendous; every ancient tree in Ellina was planted to symbolize the lost souls of a hundred men. _

_Leading the armies was a group of powerful Dark Knights who held the key to the fourth advancement._

_The war raged for hundreds of years, neither side willing to concede. This brought about the turn of the Paladins. The Holy Warriors had no wish of this war for they were bringers of Light and peace. They devised a spell which locked away the Dark Knights, along with all their knowledge of the fourth advancement, and buried their souls in the corners of the earth. Unfortunately, this spell was hurried and the drastic effects weakened all Warriors as it nearly completely drained their mana reserves, forever casting the Warriors into a shadow of their former glory._

_The Paladins were sought out as traitors and were banished into a corner of the world in which they inhabited. And it is so, that they now live, last of the Holy House of Palaedin._

_The Dark Knights are now hidden until one with the strength, determination, wisdom, and heart to find them._

_To find the men of the dark,_

_You must not only look at the snow_

_Nor the land of the lark._

_Nor look towards the sea's flow_

_Look south to the land of Dark, Beast, and Light._

_All to gain and all to lose._

_Only a heart and mind of black not white._

_Your clue: Just look for news._

_--_

A low howl wavered over the mountain tops, the mellow sound spoke of the very nature of the mountains; it spoke of the chase and the hunt. The notes quavered in the chilly air, swept into a frenzy by the Goddess's breath. The noise vibrated around the shallow valley, striking the rocky cliffs and the giant obelisk standing in the middle.

Phantur heard the howl but remained motionless as he kneeled in front of the giant spike of obsidian. The black crystal jutted from the earth, casting a deep contrast from the white and grey around it.

Phantur's hand lay rested against the face of the rock, the etchings roughened up its glass-smooth texture. His mind was awash with a deep voice, speaking of the Knights, the Order of the Dragons; their history, their stories.

Finally, the torrent of information ceased and Phantur lowered his arm, slowly raising his head, his expression blank as he thought of the new information.

_Locked up…_

Phantur thought about what that meant. The Dark Knights lived! He now knew where his next stop would be.

Currently there were "three corners" to their world. Fairy tales had always depicted the El Nathian mountains, the great walled city of Orbis, and the Southern Deserts as the THREE corners of the earth… so where was the fourth?

_Never mind that… perhaps further information can be gathered at the other three-_

The Dragon Knight halted mid-thought, as a light scuffling and sniffing was heard behind him. His senses perked up, his ears blocking out all other noise as he focused on the alien noise. He retained a calm composure, his muscles still loose under his armor as low growls accompanied the snuffing.

The clamor stopped as, whatever was behind him, sensed that it had been felt. After a while, a low howl replaced the silence, a howl of victory and blood, a howl of battle and a challenge. Scuffling could be heard as the Warrior placed one leather sole on the compact snow and dirt and slowly rose to his feet. Phantur slowly pivoted on his right foot, causing a crunching sound to blast from under him as the thin ice cracked, to face the thing behind him.

Facing him was a giant beast. It resembled a giant wolf; its coat was an unblemished white, as white as the sparkling winter dust in the air. Its pelt was completely uniform except for its chest where a ridge of dark grey stood out like a sore thumb. Deep set yellow eyes shown from behind a long snout, its lips drawn back in a ghastly snarl. Its pink gums, glistening with saliva and detruded from within a cavernous mouth, separated the blackness from the shining white of its canines.

Slowly, the monstrosity got onto its feet, showing off its bipedal nature, and extended a single paw with five razor sharp claws. Before Phantur's very own eyes, a shriek, much like that of rock on steel, split the air as its claws flashed out, extending out a few inches further.

_A Werewolf… splendid…_

As if sensing his thoughts, the wolf's snarl slowly turned upwards into, what could only be called, a smirk. A long pink tongue flashed from between its teeth to lick at its lips as it looked at the tasty human before it.

Phantur looked on, almost amused, at the blatant show of strength.

_Pitiful…_

The lycanthrope looked at the Warrior, its red gaze looking on hungrily as it thought of the meal to come.

A cry tore, once again, from the beast's mouth, it undulating in pitch, rising and falling as echoes washed back, creating an eerie melody. The howl was soon replicated by dozens of voices, their voices melding together into a dark choir.

Phantur looked on, his arms at his side, his head slightly tilted, a blank look on his face as he waited for whatever was to come.

His patience was awarded as masses of dark shapes appeared through the sheeting snow.

Soon the howling stopped and so did the dark shapes. A shimmer of moonlight broke free of the suffocating clouds to light up the clearing. Facing Phantur, stood roughly a score of lycanthropes.

The two sides looked on, studying each other before the man in black sighed, almost as if he were bored.

"I guess it's time to put down a few strays."

A growl was his only warning before they charged.

A small smile, almost a sneer, crawled up the Dragon Knight's face. The first lycanthrope approached and raised a clawed fist. As the limb whistled downwards towards his head, Phantur raised his own and clenched the beast's palm before bending it backwards, snapping the cartilage in the joint.

Phantur pulled on his injured paw, pulling the poor beast against him before ramming a fist through its stomach.

Phantur saw the lycanthrope's eyes bug out, its innards and blood splashing its comrades who were right behind him before its eyes darkened, never to see the light of day again.

He swiftly removed his arm and kicked the monster in its chest, sending it flying into the pair behind the, now dead, wolf before unsheathing his weapon. The rough rasp of ice on leather could be heard over the growls and baying as the deadly weapon was brought into full view.

The wolves stopped right in front of the Spearman, massing for an attack. When all the wolves seemed to be in place, one of them gave a deadly howl before more joined in the war cry.

Time seemed to slow down. Phantur looked on, seeing one of the wolfs rushing him on all fours, it sprinted and jumped at him, forepaws extended, ready to take down its prey. Phantur merely sidestepped; his arm flashed once, crushing through bone and sinew before pirouetting and sinking the spear into the chest cavity of a wolf trying to sneak up to him.

Phantur quickly bent at the waist as a claw flashed past the area where his head was and kicked backward, catching a wolf in the face before rolling underneath the wolf that had stood in front of him.

Phantur gripped the protruding head of his spear and yanked his weapon clear, its surface smeared black with the life blood of the wolves gathered around it. The spear glittered wickedly as if still hungry for blood.

The Dragon Knight swung his weapon like a bat, catching another monster in the neck and sent it flying into a group of its comrades before ramming the blunt end into the skull of the lycanthrope behind it.

Phantur let his weapon gently slide in his hand; the blood grouping and catching on his leather gloves as his weapon slid back into its correct position.

He looked on at the remaining wolves, his eyes glittering darkly as he saw their wariness. They spread out slowly, encircling him; their teeth were bared, eyes bare slits as they spit venomously at the creature that had spilt the blood of their brood.

Phantur leaned his pike against him and rubbed the knuckles of his left hand on his garments.

The insult was far behind subtle, and despite being silent, seemed to carry above all the snarls and howls. The noise stopped at the Spearman's gesture. A few straightened as if contemplating fleeing.

When they didn't move after a few seconds, Phantur raised three fingers on his left hand. The sight was gruesome as blood and flesh slithered down the smooth leather. When the Werewolves still remained standing in their spots, the Warrior lowered a finger.

The wolves charged.

Phantur raised his spear above his head and spun it around like a baton. The beasts halted, mesmerized, by the sheer beauty of the giant ice spear. The shafts of moonlight glinted off the weapon, throwing off a spectacular array of colors. The dazzling display was accompanied by a gentle whistling that rose and fell in pitch to match the imperfect surface of the spearhaft. The spell was broken as the spinning increased in pace, the dancing lights now settled into a solid white as the wind picked up the straggling snow, carrying it up in its updraft. The gentle hum grew in intensity to a shriek.

Phantur's body tensed as he felt the mana flow through his veins, preparing for a powerful arte. The mana spilled through him, gathering behind his eyes, filming them over with purple. With a flourish, Phantur brought the giant pike crashing into the ice in front of him, its tip sinking deep into the tundra at his feet.

A purple light radiated at the joining of ice and earth, seeping out from the spear's owner. It pulsated slowly, like runny gelatin, before erupting in a flash. A great violet wave washed out from the earth where it was joined to the spearhead.

The light raced towards the charging creatures before it hit the first wave of wolves. Cries of pain and death tore from their throats before gargling as the blood rose up their esophagus. Wails of despair came from the lucky few that managed to survive a second longer than their comrades before they rose to screeches of pain as their own demise met them.

The corpses were sent sailing through the air to be deposited on the cliff side or falling to the ground dyeing the virgin snow a deep red.

Phantur looked around the clearing before and blinked in surprise as he spied a moving wolf. He slowly walked over to it and looked down into its amber orbs.

The fatally wounded beast looked up at the man in shock as it remembered the mutilated corpses of its pack flying through the air, decorating the landscape in crushed bone and shredded flesh. A chilling feeling ran up its spine as it looked at the man. It shivered slightly as the full image burned into its mind. The black hood and armor, his dark cape flapping behind him, the blood and gore on his arms, and the giant pike of ice made him seem surreal. His hood shielded all his features, hiding them in shadow, except for his eyes.

His eyes! They burned like two pieces of coal, almost like the empty sockets of a skull. In fact, they were empty, devoid of all emotion.

He looked like… Death…

Those were the Werewolf's last thoughts before a spike of ice made its way between the wolf's eyes.


	5. Siblings, Drunkards, and News

[A/N: As of this moment... 'Corruption' has come to an end and will most likely never be seen again as I believe I did a crap-tastic job on it... also, this chapter has lewd humor and my stories will continue to do so.]

**Chapter 4: Siblings, Drunkards, and News**

Phyyroz stood atop the highest tree in the Ellinian forests, surveying the land; from the sprawling canopy of his territory to the rolling meadows of the Archer's home. The wind blew through the leaves, cooling the leaves and branches as they reached up to the sky. The willowy branches waved, attempting to grasp the escaping wind, yearning for its touch, the cool caress of the breeze. They wished once more for the subtle touch, only to reach the blinding heat of the sun.

The leader of the Magicians looked toward the fire-blown sky, feeling the warm arms of the sun around him. He absorbed the nourishing heat as he closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth curling into a quaint smile.

His mind wandered, following the peaceful life down in the forest below, savoring the gentle touch of the world around him; from the sweet song of the birds flitting through the green canvas to the fluttering of his dark robes caused by the grasping wind.

He felt like he could stand here forever. He was on top of the world, and, for once, he felt like the emperor of Bera.

He breathed in deeply, taking cool wafts of air down his air passages, the taste of maple, oak, and pine was ripe in his senses.

He felt… alive…

The rough and yet soft bark under his left palm, the feel of the winter breeze, the glimpses of white peeking out from the green canopy from the forest floor, the buzzing of the bees… this is what life was meant for… these little moments away from the hustle and bustle of politics and bloodshed…

His eyes moistened slightly as he looked on… if only… if only Bera could always be at such…

…_peace…_

The Bishop's serenity was brought to an end by a gentle pinch in his mind.

Phyyroz blinked rapidly, clearing his senses before he sighed at the mental contact and thought out his answer with exasperation.

_Yes Grendel?_

_Is that the kind of tone to greet your brother with?_

_What do you want this time? _The Bishop shot back icily, annoyed with the interruption.

He heard his brother give a mental sigh. _The others are still asking us about the patrol._

One of Phyyroz's eyebrows shot upwards as he processed the message.

_The patrol…_

The patrol that was killed over five years ago on the night of the attack against the Paladins.

Since Phyyroz and his magicians had refused to join in the bloodthirsty cause of the others, the blame had, unfortunately, fallen on his head.

It didn't help that their bodies were found in Ellina… and where killed with elemental artes.

_Are they STILL trying the place the blame on us?_

_Well… there were signs of elemental spells being used… I mean, mountains of ice with corpses skewered through them and bits of ash and bone scattering the clearing is kind of hard to miss…_

A vein slowly pulsed in Phyyroz's forehead… sometimes he wished his younger brother would drop the humor when it was time for serious matters… Why couldn't he just grow up?

_I heard that._

_Just shut up and report…_

_Hrrmp jackass hrrmp_

The Bishop felt a tenseness building up in his head as he leaned it against the tree he was standing on.

He slowly started to count, attempting to lose some of his temper at the moment.

_One… two… three…_

_Okay we get it… you can count… now…_

Phyyroz shut his eyes.

_Finally…_

_They're asking us, what could have caused it if it wasn't a group of rogue magicians…_

For once, Phyyroz felt like snapping back a witty retort.

_Well let me see… they spent the whole night slaughtering a village that was inhabited by elemental warriors who possess the powers of ice, lightening, and fire… dear goddess, it couldn't be them that caused those giant pillars of ice or fried those soldiers into bacon… no, it must have been the tree-hugging magicians who would rather shove their staves up their backdoors than hurt another human!_

…

Phyyroz waited for a few minutes; when no answer was forthcoming he questioned his brother.

_What? Hello? You there?_

_That was a horrible attempt at humor…_

_Suck it…_

_Never thought you rolled that way…_

Phyyroz banged his head against the plant… wishing he had never gotten himself caught into a banter he knew he had no chance of winning.

_Woe… slow there at banging that there tree with your little head… we're called tree huggers but jeez…_

The Priest gritted his teeth, the grinding sound whistled through the gaps. He raised his right arm and snapped his fingers.

I brilliant blue light flashed once and Phyyroz disappeared.

--

Grendel sat back in his chair chuckling… he really did enjoy tormenting his older brother.

"You… little…"

Grendel yelped and shot out of his chair when a blue light materialized in front of him and his sibling stepped out of the glow.

Grendel's tongue might have been sharper, but Phyyroz was both, physically and mentally, tougher than he was.

A sheen of sweat covered the Mage's neck and forehead as he slowly backed away.

"Uh… nice… to-"

"Cut it… are you going to tell me what's going on or do I have to beat it out of you?"

"Sorry, but being tied down and swatted isn't one of my kinks!"

Grendel squeaked and quickly teleported behind Phyyroz as his older brother lunged at him.

"I mean… uh… The others want to set up-"

Grendel snapped his fingers again, just in time, to dodge a wild swing from the Priest.

"a meeting with you! They want to discuss the escaped lordling!"

The Bishop halted mid-swing as he registered the words.

"A meeting? When?"

"Uh… now…"

Grendel gasped in shock and pain, as Phyyroz finished his swing.

A rattling sound echoed through the room as the Wizard struggled to inhale.

Phyyroz merely growled before teleporting away.

--

The inn was alive with laughter and bawdy jokes, drinks flying left and right as music accompanied the flickering of the roaring fire in the stone hearth.

Men were singing in loud and boisterous voices, swinging their mugs back and forth in a drunken stupor, completely disregarding their weapons that sat next to them.

Serving girls and maids walked through the maze of chairs and tables, pulling out unrealistically full smiles as they tried to cover up the grimace on their faces from the nauseating reek of sweat and urine and attempting to dodge the frisky fingers and groping of their drunken customers at the same time.

As vulgar as this establishment was, it was the only source of amusement and merry in El Nath; the only protection from the raging storms outside, the only thing keeping most of the town's inhabitants sane through the harsh northern winters.

The patrons were about to begin another round of singing, as crude and riddled with filth as the others, before the door of the bar swung open with a crash.

Everyone's eyes veered to the front, observing the intruder that dared to let in the cold.

The man was dressed entirely in black. His clothes, despite the tears and grime, were of the finest make; entirely made of linen and cotton, instead of the woolen garments of the other inhabitants. The iron plate and greaves where worn with dents and rust, looking as scarred as the rest of his ensemble. The only part of him that looked relatively clean and kempt was the giant cylindrical holding on his back. His face was entirely hidden by a dark hood, except for his eyes; the deep brown of those orbs leered from side to side, observing the homely tavern and the creatures it drew.

The whispers gently started up again as the door slowly swung shut.

A serving girl rushed up to the new customer. As she opened her mouth to ask for his order, he merely brushed past her, gently, but firmly, shoving her aside.

She sneered at the rude patron, watching as the man sat down at the back, right in front of the giant trestle that was the bar.

The man in black raised his arm lazily, calling over the bartender.

"Wut cen I getscha?"

"Alcaster…"

"Huh?"

"Where is the Alcaster…"

"Oh… a South-hener heh? Yeh wells hows I s'pposed tah know?"

The man opened his left palm. A few gold coins fell onto the bar top, clinking merrily, its music the sweetest thing in the whole room.

"Hmm… mah mem'ry takes moe prodden den dat…"

He dropped a few more coins down, emptying his hands.

The bartender looked the man in the eye.

"Mah mem'rys not as gud as it used tah be…"

The newcomer's eyes hardened into flecks of obsidian. He reached for his back and pulled out the item from his container.

The bartender gasped, his eyes going as wide as the mugs he used to fill with ale as the giant weapon was introduced to the discussion.

The Dragon Knight laid his giant ice spear on top of the pile of coins.

"This enough… 'prodden' for you?"

The noise quieted down, all whispering and rude jokes stopped as soon as the man had pulled out his spear.

The bartender visibly gulped as he pointed a shaky finger northwest.

"Ou…out…outskheerts oh town!" he managed to squawk past the lump in his throat.

The Dragon Knight nodded and picked up his weapon and his money before walking towards the door.

Wary eyes followed him as he made his way to the exit.

He reached out a hand and pulled open the door before the winter night swallowed him into her embrace.

--

Phantur looked at the humble but clean looking shack standing in the clearing. The little hut was just past the town's boundaries and, for some reason, seemed to have a circle entirely cleared of snow around it.

As he raised a fist to knock on the door, said door swung open and an old man, bent over with age, peeked his head out. His spectacles slid down his long nose, tipping to one side as the man squinted up at the Dragon Knight.

"Eh… how may I help you yung'un?" The old man asked Phantur with a voice tinted with age.

"Where is the Alcaster?"

"Eh?"

"The Alcaster..."

"No such person…" The frail old man pulled his head out of the doorway and made to close the slab of wood.

A dull thunk rang out as the door jammed unto the leather soles of Phantur's right boot. Phantur's arm shot out and smashed the door against the inside of the hut's wall. The door splintered as it came in contact with the Knight's fist.

"I asked you where the Alcaster is…"

"Now you listen here yung'un!"

Phantur snarled with impatience and swung a fist at the elderly man.

The sound of flesh connecting sounded out and Phantur lowered his eyes in surprise as he saw his fist caught in the palms of the frail being standing before him.

He quickly raised his eyes to look the old thing in the face, his surprise still evident on his face.

What Phantur saw in the old man's eyes sent a shiver up his spine. The man's eyes glared back up at the Dragon Knight, fire seemed to lick at his irises, a deep power erupting from his aging pores. All fragility seemed to disappear as the man threw Phantur across the clearing. Phantur gave a cry as he landed on his back into the snow drift.

"You really are a fool... you wanted the Alcaster? Well you have found him!"

Phantur quickly got to his feet and pulled out his spear, his eyes flashed with a murderous glare.

The man's eyes flicked to the giant icicle.

"Ah… the Fair Frozen… I wonder how you managed to come by it…"

Phantur gave no reply except to jump at his nemesis. He cleared the open field with a single bound and raised his spear for the thrust. As his feet touched the ground, he thrust forward, a brilliant blue light erupting from the spear head.

Alcaster merely raised a hand and brushed the spear aside. He thrust out his hand as if to choke the young Dragon Knight.

Phantur yelped in surprise as his body was sent flying again, this time landing on the hard and cruel earth. His breath rushed from his lungs as he struck the packed ground. Before he could draw a single breath, a vice like grip seemed to materialize around his throat. Phantur's eyes bugged out as he struggled to draw breath.

No matter how hard he struggled, though, he couldn't break free. He looked on helplessly, icy daggers shooting from his eyes as he snarled silently at the approaching Magician. Foam trickled from between his teeth and spittle flew from his mouth.

"Fool…" The Alcaster said, slowly shaking his head. "You come here looking for news but instead you find nothing! I should kill you Phantur… or should I say Zeryoz? Yes… I see your hatred, your fear, your anger son of Palaedin… Alas I see none of the light that you were born into but instead, the darkness of the Dark Knights."

With this, he took a deep breath.

At this point, Phantur's vision had begun to tunnel and his face was a bright red from excursion and a lack of oxygen. The heels of his boots beat a rapid staccato rhythm on the hard ground as he continued his futile fight for breath.

"By all rights I should kill you as I foresee the damage that will be rout by you… but I am no killer."

The grip around Phantur's throat slackened and his lungs rapidly expanded as he inhaled the air greedily. As soon as he drew a breath, the Alcaster thrust forward once more.

Phantur didn't even get time to cry out as his world went black.


	6. Interview

**Chapter 5: Interview**

"We've been f-ing tell you this for FIVE years! We had nothing to do with those deaths!"

"Then who else ripped apart that squad?"

"Well it wasn't us!"

"It might have been a band of rogue magicians!"

"There hasn't been a Necromancer amongst our kind in over three centuries!"

"Then explain the deaths on YOUR land! The bodies mutilated with elements MAGICIANS control! And it just so happens that you were against us that day and refused to join our march!"

"Your attack was barbaric and uncalled for!"

"Are you admitting your involvement?"

"My answer is the same as it was five years ago! It wasn't us and f- you!"

With those words, Phyyroz spun around, his black cape snapping behind him in his hurry. He marched towards the door and blasted the twin oak panels into matchwood.

Henesys sighed as he saw the Bishop make his exit.

The archer idly plucked at his bowstring as he spun his chair around to face the other assembled Lords of Bera.

"What if it wasn't them?" A deep voice rumbled.

"Then who else Perion?"

The Warrior sat there silently. He reached his arm up and scratched at a spot of rust on his sword. Without looking up, he answered the Archer.

"A White Knight…" The answer was barely a whisper but the message resonated around the room.

A blood-red knife smashed against the giant tabletop, crashing through the wood. The leader of the Thieves jumped up, knocking over his chair. "What? Impossible, we killed off every single Knight there was!"

"Wasn't the party that was killed meant for seek and destroy? And a White Knight has control over Fire, Ice, and Thunder… at least two of the three were used at the sight of the massacre."

Kerning fell back heavily into the solid slab of oak. The little bit of skin that was discernable behind the leather and cloth paled considerably.

"T…th…" he blubbered.

"That means that we inadvertently sealed our own coffins."

Henesys looked up, his pinched face taking on one of thoughtfulness.

"Well… what can we do now?"

Perion looked to the Bowmaster.

"Three choices… find this Knight and make peace… destroy him somehow… or wait for all hell to break loose."

"Hey dude… what would you say if I said I wanted to date your sister?"

"I'd say she unless you want your head up your ass don't even think about it…"

"Dude… comeon!" John whined.

Zeryoz glared at his best friend.

"You go anywhere NEAR my sister without me around…" Zeryoz snarled articulating each word with a finger stabbing on John's polished steel breastplate. "… and I'll knock out every one of your teeth!" Zeryoz pushed the luckless Warrior with his last statement.

The Page looked down at the young man at his feet and opened his mouth to further rebuke him before falling back in horror. Where John was laying a second ago, a pile of rusted armor and bones replaced him. Zeryoz stared at the eyeless sockets in revulsion.

Even as he looked on, the scene seemed to shift and, in a blink of an eye, he stood once more outside his town, watching the flames and smoke grasping at the stars.

Zeryoz's eyes widened.

Before he could move or speak, his vision blurred again before he found himself standing next to his sister's grave.

"Wh… what the… What am I doing here?" Zeryoz cried in fear and confusion.

No answer came forth but the colors started to blend once more. As his vision settled, he found himself standing in a dark forest. The trees were larger and closer grown than those in the Ellinian forest. The dirt was moist and had a faint musky scent that overpowered the slight smell of decay common in such lands. Yet, none of these took his attention as a very familiar old man sat in front of him.

"Alcaster!" the Dark Knight snarled.

The old man stood up from his resting spot.

"Why have you brought me here?"

"Why… to stop death and destruction of course."

Phantur's rage took over and he swung a fist at the old man. Alcaster merely moved his arm up a few inches and blocked the punch. He spun around, kicking the Dragon Knight in the chest and sent him flying into a tree behind him.

"Death and destruction… for that is what you'll bring to Bera if I allow you to leave. You feel hurt... you feel forsaken… you feel lonely."

"YOU KNOW NOTHING!"

Alcaster waved his arm and Phantur's lips seemed to snap shut.

"As I was saying… These traits together are dangerous, especially in one as powerful as you. I know your future, I know the many futures of Bera. I see what paths you are most likely to take and I see myself giving you this very message. I see myself now, but I do not see my part in this world in any other path."

Alcaster looked him straight in the eye.

"I know what your plan is. I see the many futures. I see where you have prevailed, the world changed, for better or for worse, and I see your, so called, enemies crushed. I also see you failing, your bloodless corpse strewn across muddy terrain. Lastly I see the worst future you have. I see you suffering more than you should. Old dreams will haunt you for centuries, new ones will leak past your walls."

Phantur glared at the old man. As his eyes met those of Alcaster, he saw the truth and wisdom behind the fiery gaze. His own stare seemed to falter and a hint of doubt crawled into his demeanor.

Alcaster ambled over to the fallen Warrior and knelt next to him. He lifted Phantur's face by the chin and looked at him.

"I've always wondered… what… exactly set you down this path?"

At those words, Alcaster saw the eyes of the Knight start to dim. The single flicker of fear soon fell into the black void of unconsciousness.

"Everyone to the frontlines!"

"They've breached the walls!"

"Hurry! Get the women and children out!"

Zeryoz's vision brightened until his vision was filled by fire and steel.

"Zeryoz, get your arse moving!"

"Huh…" He blinked in confusion. He looked over at the man next to him. His broad-shoulders dwarfed his slighter frame despite being a few inches shorter.

"John…?"

"YES! Hurry, we're in charge of the first group of evacuees!"

"Oh… yeah…"

"Zach… Stephanie… Frank… Josh… Luke… hurry up! Frank and Josh, you take point. Zeryoz and I will take the right and left. Zach, you and Stephanie guard the back! Luke, go in the middle and herd the people! Hurry up!"

They got into position around the small group of noncombatants. They small group of around two score headed past the gates towards the safety of the Ellinia forests.

"Hurry, I think we've lost them!" Zach cried out, tears still pouring down his face as he glimpsed the faint glow that signified all that he had lost.

"Come on kiddo. You can do it!" Stephanie quietly urged a faltering little girl.

The small group continued their anguishing trek, their paces picking up as the forest came in sight.

Frank looked up at the line of foliage and a small laugh broke away from his lips.

"Ha! I think we mad-"

A huge explosion seemed to flash infront of Zeryoz as a searing heat colored his face. Smoke billowed around them as panicked people raced in every direction in feeble attempts to save their lives. Ensuing explosions and streaks of fire added to the confusion while striking down defenseless women and children.

As his vision cleared, Zeryoz looked at where Frank had last stood. In his place a single plate of metal remained, its twisted bulk was all that was left of the young man.

"Oh by the graces of Minerva…" He whispered as Stephanie screamed "Oh my gosh! JOSH!"

His head swiveled to another pile of twisted steel and ash.

He groaned in anguish as he saw the twin piles of metal and ash.

"NO TIME TO MOURN NOW! Come, let's get out of here!" John screamed at his friends.

"Get out of where?"

The calm voice, so out of place amongst the terror and disorder, stunned the small group of survivors. They all stood stark still as a dark-clothed man stepped from the shadows, his blood red dagger glistening with fluid that matched the hue of the metal.

"Kerning?" Zeryoz sputtered out, his mind trying to work its way around the fact that one of the four founders was one of the people committing the murders on his town.

"Yes my little warriors in training… Any of you imbeciles a Paladin? No? Well… now why don

T you all be good little soldiers and obey your commanding officer. Lay down your arms and surrender."

Zeryoz glanced at his friends, seeing the same insecure and uncertain features decorating each one of them.

He turned towards the Thief and was about to speak when another voice erupted.

"LIKE HELL WE WILL!"

Luke rose from a pile of corpses and rushed over at the Chief Bandit, his spear upraised.

"Ignorant fool…"

Luke skidded to a halt and thrust the bladed pole at Kerning.

Kerning didn't blink, he stepped forward and twisted his hip slightly, evading the deathly edge of the spear and planted his palm into Luke's face, crushing the cartilage in his nose. He went foreward and gripped the Spearman by his shoulders and drove his knee into his chest.

Zeryoz gasped as cracking of bones was added to the desolate noises permeating the night air.

Kerning hopped backwards as Luke feebly swung a fist at the Bandit. The Chief Bandit grabbed the haft of the spear and yanked it from Luke's limp hands before sharply swinging the blunted end at him.

A pop resonated through the clearing, mixed with the incoherent screaming of the Spearman as his jaw dislocated.

Kerning lazily stepped behind the dying Warrior and wrapped his sinewy arm around his neck.

He looked up and stared Zeryoz straight in his eyes.

"One down…"

With a quick twist, he snapped Luke's neck.

Cries of horror came from the four remaining friends as the lifeless husk fell to the ground.

Alcaster studied the images flashing before his eyes. Despite the severity of events and the raw emotion didn't account for the madness he saw lying under the Dragon Knight's consciousness.

He was about to let go of his hold when another image flashed past.

Zeryoz kneeled beside the graves of his two comrades and between them, the final resting spot of his last link to this world.

It had worn him emotionally and physically when he was forced to dig the three graves. The last vestiges of his comrades were now returned to the earth.

Tears burned his eyes, his midnight tresses obscuring his sorrow. Pain and misery racked his frame as he remembered his life just a few hours prior to the massacre. He remembered his family, his friends, his village. He remembered.

_Sis…_

_Interesting…_


End file.
